36. Damon
“Don’t getblood in my car, asshole,” Matthias says as he parks in front of Misty’s apartment.
I rub my palm over the dash, smearing red over the tan leather, and wink. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Fucking cheery, asshole. You’re lucky we like her.”
My jaw twitches, and I glance his way. “What do you think would happen if you didn’t?”
“Fuck. Easy. I was kidding. Sensitive.” This time, Matthias’s mouth quirks to the side, and all the anger drains out of me.
Misty’s doing wonders with him, and she doesn’t even know it.
Knowing she’s upstairs, laid out asleep, has me climbing out of the car.
The window rolls down behind me. “Take a shower before you give her nightmares.”
I look down. Blood splatters my white shirt and hands. Right. Shower first.
The apartment’s quiet, the lights turned off when I step inside. She’d looked so exhausted earlier. Matthias was the only reason I didn’t follow her home. I don’t give a single fuck about my responsibilities, about the fact that they caught two traitors, that I’d be the one to dole out their punishments. I’d leave that all to my brothers if that meant I could take care of my wife.
She’d looked delicate, almost fragile. None of the fire lit up her eyes. I hated it.
The light is off in the bedroom, complete silence emanating from it. I have to fight against the pull to go to her and head to the bathroom instead.
The sound of running water is my first sign that something is wrong.
Nothing prepared me for the sight in front of me when I open the door.
Misty is curled in on herself, fully dressed, body shaking under the spray of water.
My throat closes, making it hard to swallow, as I stumble into the room. I push the shower curtain open further and climb into the tub with her. The water’s brutally cold, freezing through my shirt as it rapidly clings to me. I cover her from the spray, using my back as a shield as I adjust the temperature. How long has she been in here?
The tub’s small, so I pull her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her, trying to put heat back into her.She’s trembling against my chest, her fingers digging into my shirt.
“You have a fever. I’ll call my doctor. Everything’s going to be okay.” A strand of hair is clinging to her cheek, and I push it off her face.
Her eyes snap up to mine, the pretty green rimmed with red. “No. I’m fine.”
“You are so far away from fine.”
It’s minuscule, but I feel her flinch in my arms in response. It’s like ice pouring through my veins, freezing me in place.
I palm her cheeks and search her face. “What is it? Did I do something?”
She shakes her head, but it’s the tears pooling over her eyes and streaming down her face that has my world crashing down around me.
“Misty. Tell me what’s wrong.” My voice is a plea as my hands run over her, looking for any signs of injury. Her dress clings around her thighs. Her breath catches with each inhale—she’s fucking crying. She’s not fucking fine.
“I can’t breathe.” Her words are so low I barely hear them, but it’s her hands tearing at the bodice of her dress that gives away what she means.
Within seconds, I have her freed from the soaking fabric, the top now hanging down to her waist. She’s taking hungry lungfuls of air like she hasn’t had one in hours.
I band my hand around her waist, guiding her into my chest, and kiss the top of her head. Fear clashes with helplessness as I hold her. I hate that I don’t know what’s wrong, but I refuse to push her further.
I run my hand up and down her back in a calming motion, then freeze as my fingers travel over thick, raised ridges.
There are two deep scars on her back, clean, crisp lines that can only be carved by a knife.
She stills in my arms as I trace over them. This is what she’s been hiding. This is what she didn’t want me to see.
Rage burns through my veins, turning my vision red. Whoever dared touch her is going to die for that mistake. Misty grows still in my arms, her eyes downcast, and her hands tremble where they’re holding on to my shirt.
Pain lances my chest at the terror written all over her. There will be time to track the fucker down later. Right now, all that matters is my girl.
I cup her jaw and guide her face up, dropping my forehead to hers. “I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
Her breath hitches, and she pauses for several seconds before speaking. “It was years ago…I should be over it by now.”
I had my own personal battles with trauma, and there’s one thing I know for sure. “No one gets to decide when or if they’ll ever be over it. That’s not something anyone should ask from you.”
She sniffs. “He was there tonight.”
Fuck!My teeth grind hard enough to break, but I don’t tighten around her. The last thing I want to become is another person to fear.
“Who was there?”
“Thomas.”
I wait, wait for her to be ready or not. The name Thomas isn’t much of a lead, but combining it with him being at the party narrows the potential dead men extensively.
“He…he raped me.”
I flinch. Muscles spasm throughout my body. The pain in her voice is nearly my undoing. “I will kill him for you.”
“His family is scary well-connected.”
A rough laugh rumbles in my throat. “I can promise you that won’t be a problem.”
“I can never tell if you’re being serious or not.”
“I’m always serious.” I brush our lips together before pulling back.
“Is it wrong that I love that?”
“Your darkness matches my darkness.” Her eyes soften, and I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “Let me get you out of here.”
She sniffs again and nods. “Okay.”
Her wet dress hits the linoleum with a splat as I lift her into my arms and carry her into the room. Shuffling through my drawer, I pull out one of my worn T-shirts and lower it over her head. It completely engulfs her, more of a dress than a shirt.
She pushes her hair back off her face and tucks it behind her ears. A hint of pink washes over her cheekbones as she gazes up at me.
“You look perfect.” I kiss her forehead. Even after the warm shower, she still feels cold. I pull back the blanket, making a spot for her to climb in. “I’m going to go make you some tea.”
The second I’m out of the room, I text Matthias.
Me: There was a guy named Thomas at the party. Find him.
Matthias: Any other information?
Me: He hurt Misty.
Matthias: Give me twenty.
Me: Make it ten.
The water boils, and I drop in the bag of chamomile tea and stir in some honey. I trust Matthias to find the asshole; it’s only a matter of time. If I have to haul in every Thomas in attendance and question them individually, so fucking be it.
Misty’s sitting up in bed, knees pulled to her chest under the blanket. The collar of her shirt is darkened from her damp hair, and there are goose bumps where the strands touch her neck.
I grab her hair dryer off the vanity, and she gives me a small smile as I approach.
“Are you freaking serious?”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m tired.”
I shift her forward so I can sit behind her, my back pressed against the headboard, both legs on either side of her. “It’s a good thing I’m the one doing it, then, isn’t it?”
“This is ridiculous?—”
Her words are cut off by the whoosh of the dryer. I take my time, deliberately being mindful of tangles. It probably takes twice as long than if she’d done it, but by the time I’m done, she’s looking up at me with hooded eyes.
Her tongue sneaks out and wets her bottom lip. “Make me forget, Damon.”
Fuck me. Power washes over me. At being the one she asked, at being the one that can take her pain from her.
I flip our positions so I’m over her, elbows bent, and she’s cradled beneath me. I take her lips in mine in a slow, delicate kiss, taking my time as I devour her. She moans softly when I make my way down her ear, nipping at her earlobe before traveling lower. “Relax for me, wife.”
Her body goes languid in my hands as I travel lower, following the path her pleasured sounds lead me down. I swirl my tongue around her nipple over her shirt until the fabric’s wet and it’s a solid peak. Misty’s fingers dig into my hair, both pushing and pulling me as I kiss down her sternum, lifting the hem of her shirt to expose more of her as I descend between her knees. It’s not until her pretty pink pussy’s in front of me that I pause to check in with her.
Her gaze is hooded, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and her back’s arched off the bed, practically begging me for more.
I suck on her thigh, teeth scratching the surface, leaving a mark. Her fingers curl painfully in my hair as she guides me to where she needs me. I bury my nose against her clit, breathing in her sweet smell before licking along her seam. Her hips jerk against me, and I hold them in place as I work my tongue back and forth, bringing her closer to her orgasm with each touch. My cock’s rock hard against the bed, begging me to be touched, but all that matters is her pleasure.
Her hips rock into me, begging for more, and I circle two fingers around her entrance. She cries out as I push them deep inside her, curling them against her G-spot.
Her words change to pleas for more, and I give it to her, sucking her clit as I twist my fingers deep inside her until she pulses around my fingers. Her orgasm crashes around her, and I kiss her slowly, delicately, over her skin until she squirms away from me.
“Sensitive.” She hums, head lolling to the side. I get off her and drape her limbs over my chest, needing her as close as possible.
Her hand travels down my abs, but I stop it before she can cup my cock through my boxers. “I will fuck you, but not tonight. Go to sleep, Nymph.”
I stroke her hair for less than a minute before she’s out to this world.
My phone lights up on my table, and I’m careful not to wake her when I reach for it.
My lips pull at the corner at the message.
Matthias: Got him.